


Rae of Sunshine

by GiannaQueenofBelgium



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Quicksilver - Fandom, X-Men
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mutant Powers, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Relativity, Time Travel, Violence, X-men - Freeform, black hole, car crash, peter maximoff - Freeform, peter/oc - Freeform, quicksilver - Freeform, school for gifted youngsters, speedster, speedy - Freeform, tw violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiannaQueenofBelgium/pseuds/GiannaQueenofBelgium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rae is a mutant who only has powers for one day out of the year. After she loses control of her powers during a sentinel attack Rae is transported into the backyard of Peter Maximoff. It's 1974, bell bottoms are the best thing ever, Nixon is president, the internet won't exit for a long time, and the sparks of war against the mutants are just starting to flare up. Rae has one year until her powers return and she can go back to her own time, her own home, but what if she doesn't want to go back? The future is grim at best, but her family is there, but the 70s hold love and adventure, yet it isn't her place.<br/>What will she chose: the past or the present?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Everything is packed up, it is almost sad that all my earthly possessions fit inside this little backpack.  A couple shirts, an extra pair of jeans, a bundle of Polaroids, and a wad of cash doesn’t take up much space. It is hard to imagine living off of the little I carry, but this is not permanent, and I have to keep that at the forefront of my mind. This won’t be a clean break, I’m leaving with bits and pieces of me askew on the floor, stuck between the cushions of his couch, and hidden in secret places. I hope he finds the remnants slowly, one at a time over the months, and treasures them in his own whole heart. At least I hope it’s whole, the thought of how much I might be hurting him is overwhelming.

I yearn to sit back down on my cot, mull this decision over and stay another week; maybe two. My eyes turn down at the well-made bed and over the floor, then roam to the walls and the posters I fall asleep gazing at every night. “Godzilla vs Tokyo”, “Carrie”, and a crooked Beatles poster return my stare. Staying here will only add to my pain. The only choice is to find my Aunt, stay with her for the remaining six months, and then this will all just be a bad dream.

He’s asleep on his couch, one leg falling off the side and the other haphazardly thrown over the back. Peter is peaceful when he sleeps and so amazingly still for such a busy boy. I don’t want to stop looking at him, truly I wish I could sit down and run my fingers through his silver hair. My heart yearns to stay with him, to love him, to _tell_ him that I love him. But my heart is in for a shock; it will never be able to pour its contents out to my speedster.

 I lift my backpack gently over my shoulders and quietly move up the stairs. My feet are kept to the sides where the steps don’t often creak, a trick Peter himself taught me when we snuck out of the house in the middle of the night. I don’t fear waking him, but Magda is up early to head to work during the week and my leaving is not something I want to discuss with anyone, especially not her. Although it is barely five in the morning I worry she may wake up at any moment and force me back to bed, to stay here in quiet suffering and longing. She doesn’t stir from her bedroom however and I leave my letter on the kitchen table in peace.

Outside it is horribly cold, there is a light mist in the air that chills my skin and soaks through my fringed leather jacket and into my bones. The heavy cold mimics the same chill emotions stirring with my chest and stomach. A very poetic setting, I think and plod down the front walk. When I’m a block away my feet can’t help but speed up to a jog, then into a sprint, and then just as fast as they can go. I’m speeding through the silent, lonely streets with tears streaming down my cheeks and my legs screaming to get far, far away. It’s sunrise and I’m still walking steadily even though my muscles are raging against the strain. My side aches like a knife has been plunged into my ribs and not even that detours me to slowing. My hands are tucked into the deep front pockets of the cowhide jacket and my fingertips gently run circles into my sore spots.

When Peter wakes he’ll find his mother and twin sister sitting at the kitchen table, looking pale and distressed. Lorna, the youngest Maximoff child, won’t be awake for another hour or so. He’ll ask what is wrong and when they don’t answer but instead push a wrinkled letter towards him his stomach will drop. Within an instant my depressing little note will have been read and he’ll be dressed. In a flash Peter will be after me, zooming through the streets yelling my name, shouting that this isn’t funny, that I should just come home. And if I see him again my stupid heart will speak “yes” louder than my mind can say “no” and I’ll go home with him. So I keep walking faster. There is no alternative. I can’t go back, not to the people I won’t allow myself to become attached to. There is no painless way this could ever work. When my time is up it will be as if I’m dead; I can’t handle putting them through that if we get any closer to one another. Especially not Peter, I can never do that to him.

I’m hidden in the bushes behind the bus shelter; the only bus leading out of Washington DC in the area will be here in forty five minutes. After this first bus I have seven more before I reach Minnesota. I have just got enough money for the fare and little will be left for meals. I gave most of it to Magda in a tepid attempt to make up for everything she’s done for me, well everything that I could spare that is. I’ll do anything to survive because no matter what I’m going to make it to Saint Paul. Aunt Georgia lives there, she told me when I was younger that in the early 1970’s to the mid 1980’s she ran a half-way house for abused women and other lost souls. Hopefully I fit the criteria, right now lost soul feels like a good description of how I feel.

I squat in the bushes for a full hour, my ankles click when I dare to move and my spine spasms from the position. The only reason I don’t leave the leafy lilac bush is that if Peter runs past the bus stop he’ll see me inside, but if he comes by he hopefully won’t think to inspect under the heaps of purple flowers. The bus is late. I plunk down on the damp ground and sit cross legged, my knees almost pushing out from under the heavy clumps of petals and leaves. I wait another twenty minutes. My hands start to sweat. Peter is already running everywhere he thinks I could be. Or is he? Maybe he doesn’t care, maybe he never did. That is more distressing than my previous ideas.

“Just a bad dream,” I whisper and shut my eyes while pulling my legs close to my chest. Through my breast I feel a steady heartbeat and remember that while I’m alive, everything is ok. Six more months and I’ll be home, in my own bed, with Mom in the next room and Dad coming home every day at five. Twenty Six weeks and I can see my friends again, play video games that aren’t Pong, go on the internet again. One hundred and eighty two days left before I can wear clothes that are not from the 1970’s, listen to the music I’ve missed so dearly, hold my best friend’s hand and braid her hair, be back in my own time.

I breathe deeply out. Existence has been exhausting as of late. Brakes squeak and my eyes open, the blasted bus is finally here. Its metal doors creak open and I climb out of the bush, my head is just breaching the leaves as I look both ways down the sidewalk. No odd gusts of winds whipping the tree branches and twirling litter up in little tornadoes, no sign of Peter anywhere. I slip between the clumps of lilac blooms like an escapee fairy leaving a secret garden. The Bus driver questions at me with a look of amused suspicion before flinching with widening eyes. His mouth forms loosely around a curse. My hair brushes over to one side and a sharp gust of wind shocks my cheek.

He’s found me.


	2. Chapter 2

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” The voice is soft, hurt, and I take a mechanical step towards the bus. If I listen to him I’ll idle, if I idle those words will seep into my mind corrupting my plans. The man at the wheels looks between us and hesitantly keeps the doors open.

“Do I really mean so little to you that I don’t get to know you’re leaving?” He is louder now, more intense, he’s never shown emotion like this. Peter’s pain is at the surface, running over the sides and spilling out his mouth. Normally the boy is composed so he appears simply snarky, instead of hurt, sarcastic instead of angry, silly instead of sad. But now he is straight forward. Clenching my jaw keeps my focus from turning back, my teeth grind against each other with such intensity that pain rockets through my temples.

I take another step forward and plant my right foot on the first step.

“If you need a minute kid, you can take it,” The man says with sincerity. I beg the older man with my eyes to take his comment back. This is the last thing on earth I need to hear, to be given an excuse to step off the bus and rush into his arms, to cry and beg Peter not to be mad. Regrettably I’m turning around, stepping back onto the curb and meeting his red rimmed eyes. The fact that he’s been crying is shocking.

“Where are you going?” I didn’t include that bit of information in the letter, mostly it talked of my thanks towards the Maximoff household for everything they had done for me, the rest was a rambling apology. I made sure not include where I was heading or if I’d be coming back, but they surely knew they wouldn’t be seeing me again. And for my destination, that was for me alone to know.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as my voice betrays me and cracks.

“No you’re not!” He says louder, he doesn’t dare yell at me but Peter will not let me off easy.

 “If this actually hurt you then you wouldn’t be leaving us. Do you know how excited Lorna was that you were going to teach her to crochet? Or that Wanda has been planning a surprise party for you since you haven’t been yourself lately? And Mom absolutely adores you, she feels like you’ve balanced our family or something like that. You don’t have a clue. It’s like you don’t even care what would happen to us if you left. How I would feel.”

The last part slips out and he blinked rapidly when he realizes what he’s saying. Trying not to cry is futile and I could care less if he sees me cry, or if the bus driver is totally eavesdropping on everything we say. I’m past caring what other people think. I’ve been more vulnerable in the last few months than ever before in my life, an open wound open for the world to prod at the seizing nerves and spasming muscles. Crying seems appropriate.

“Why, why are you leaving?” He sputters with raised hands and flickering eyes.

“Peter, don’t make assumptions. It’s best if I leave.”

“For who? Just tell me!”

“For you! I’m leaving because of you! Because of me.” Peter is startled at my reply. His lips part as his head drops and suddenly becomes small and vulnerable. All the atrocities I’ve witnessed, everything I’ve gone through that has aged me beyond my years melts away and all that is left is a scared sixteen year old. His nonchalant attitude towards life that makes him feel older to me has disappeared too. We’re just two kids standing out in the cold morning dew.

My self-control is not comparable to his. I want to cry and shout and stomp my feet and screaming how all of this is unfair and awful while he just holds himself still and remains for the most part, collected. I wince at the sharp tears in my eyes and shake my head, letting them drip away and blur my vision.

“I’m leaving because I can’t keep this up, I can’t keep playing pretend Peter. I tried for so long not to do anything stupid and I can’t keep it up the facade anymore!” I stomp one foot like a child and ball my hands up in fists. Peter refuses to look at me and the cold stare of the driver bores into my back. I’m the bad guy now. I guess I always have been. It’s not like he Maximoff’s requested me to drop out of the air in their back yard screaming for my Mom to run, that the end of the world was here, they didn’t want me. They never did. Who am I to blame them?

He’s crying again, so much giving them a clean break and taking all the pain with me. We’re both open nerves out in the cold, hurting all over and just wanting the agony to end. Well, I want the pain to end, to run away from my problems but Peter- he wants answers.

“W-what did I ever do to you? I know I’m a lot to handle but I try my best. I’m really trying to be a better person Rae. I tried to be nice to you, to give you space and make sure I was there for you when you were missing everyone in the-“ He glances up at the driver for a split second. Saying “the future” won’t make us seem like well-adjusted citizens. “Back home.” he finishes. I’m breathing like a broken accordion, in and out in rapid, harsh gusts accompanied with wheezing noises. The stress is making my throat tighten and my asthma is already bothered from all the running I’ve done today.

“You didn’t do anything wrong Peter. That’s why I’m leaving.”

“Do you know how little sense you’re making?” I sign and roll my eyes. He crosses his arms and the driver mutters something about “teenagers” under his breath. I groan and shove my hands over my eyes. I rub them into my face as hard as I can as everything I’ve kept bottled up inside of me since the day I met Peter, since the day I knew he was my first real crush, since the moment I accepted I adored him, begins to leak out.

“I love you! And it will never work, not in ten thousand years, not in a million different realities could this ever happen! I have to leave in six months and I’ll never see you like this again. We’ll never be able to have a normal relationship and we’d never be able to be stupid teenagers in stupid love. I can’t have that. And every day that I’m around you I keep falling more in love with you and every second my stupid fricken deadline gets closer and it just tears me up.” Everything rushes out like an emotional dam has crumbled within me. I gasp for air as my chest constricts like a boa is wrapped around my lungs. Peter stares at me with wide eyes, everything is silent but for the beating of my heart in my ears.

“I can’t bear it anymore,” I whisper and drop my tense shoulders. Late night fantasies of telling the truth about how I feel always end in a great weight lifted away but now I feel pathetic.

“Why, why didn’t you say anything?”

“How could I? Is there any rational way I could tell you, that I, the weird girl from-“I remember that the driver is still listening to us a second before I blurt out “the future” and quickly stop myself. “From a different _place_ likes you?” It takes Peter a moment to understand my censored version of reality. He meets the driver’s eyes.

“Um, excuse us for a moment,” He says and grabs the sleeve of my jacket and pulls me towards the privacy of the little bus enclosure.

“No!” I say and tug away from him, trying to return to the vehicle. “I need to go, Peter don’t!” I swat him away and try to escape. My secret is out, I have nothing more to say, no remaining parts of me to give up.

“Rae, talk to me. You can’t push me away right now. I have the right to talk to you before you go off and disappear forever. There will be another bus, just, for the love of- please wait.” The bus driver shuts the squeaking doors and nods a farewell to me before he drives off. He just left me teetering on the curb. He left me behind to deal with this ridiculously awful boy. I turn sharply on my heel and face Peter.

“What do you want to talk about huh? That now I have to wait another flipping hour out in the cold until another bus comes? Thanks a lot Peter.”

“Drama queen,” His joking tone appears as does the urge to slap him.

“Peter what the heck-“ I’m inspecting his eyelids. They’re directly in front of my face, rimmed with silver lashes and moving slightly from his flickering eyes. It takes my skin a moment to register the heat on my lips. I’m lifting my hands to his face, pressing gentle fingers to his cheeks and jawbone. I don’t know what is wrong me. My gosh, now my eyes are closing, I hardly attempt to fight. This is what I’ve wanted for so long, how can I say no?

When I almost start choking from ignoring my need to relax my pained lungs he breaks away. Peter is grinning, cheeks bright red, and holding me tight. Then he’s pushing his lips back on me and I’m trying to tell him I can’t breathe.

“Huh?” He asks and pulls a centimeter away, inspecting my eyes with his abyssal dark ones.

“T-the asthma, c-can’t breathe,” I say and bend my head away from him, coughing into the fringe edge on my coat.

“Oh my gosh you’re so romantic,” He teases and when I’m done hacking my lungs up I swat at his chest. He smirks and pecks the tip of my nose, my cheeks, and then my lips. I grin at him, holding a lock of his curly hair between my fingers and wondering what the actual heck is going on. I must have passed out from the asthma attack and am twitching on the sidewalk right now while the bus driver fetches a paramedic. But when I ask if this is real Peter mumbles yes and hugs me close.

We sit down in the bus enclosure and just hold hands. We’re facing the rising sun and get to enjoy the flurry of colors that paint the morning dawn. My gloved hand inside of his larger one doesn’t feel like enough right now, so I slip off my mitten and tuck it in my pocket, replacing my bare hand in his. It’s colder, but much better.

“Are you coming home now?” I stay silent.

“What would I say to your mom?”

“That you’re staying.”

“I’m not staying Peter.”

“Yes, yes you are. For another six months. Then you’ll think about it more.”

We’re both quiet for a long time again, just holding hands and taking in everything that’s just happened. Peter leans over and kisses my lips every couple of minutes, not pressuring me to say anything or even reciprocate his actions, just touching me in a reassuring way. Every little kiss is like he’s saying “It’s ok, I’m here. You’re here. Everything is fine right now and that’s all that matters.”

“We don’t have to go back home,” Peter begins. “We could go around different places; I mean the whole world is out there,” He gestures with our entwined hands at the residential neighborhood that surrounds us. I get what he’s saying though. We could go anywhere. We’re young, pretty stupid most of the time, and tired of the mundane.

“Like where?”

“California, you’ve told me you want to see Cali sometime. We could go to Canada; I mean it is not like we really need a passport to get across country lines or anything.” He’s got a point, with his speed we could sneak past the world’s best security. “Where were you going?”

“Minnesota.”

“Why?”

“My Aunt lives there, I was going to go and stay with her. See what my Mom looks like at fourteen. Thought it would be sort of trippy, kinda cool.”

“We could totally do that. I mean I can go back home and grab some stuff and we can take the buses there. I know you don’t really like how I travel.” The last time he’d used his speed to transport me somewhere I vomited all over the grass in front of the Library and made some toddler cry. That wasn’t the best day ever to say the least.

 

The next thing I know we’re on the bus. Peter has his stuff, I have my own, Magda has been given a second crappy apology,  and we’re off to see the world. He loves me. Well, he tolerates me enough to continue kissing me from time to time and never take his hand off mine. That’s good enough. It is so much more than what I’ve ever expected. Also it is what I didn’t want, what I really wanted to avoid.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter will have descriptive violence, may be best to skim for some.

I sit back, rest my head on Peter’s shoulder, and begin to drift off. Like a slideshow the events of the past six months blur in my mind, going backwards in time until I arrive at the fateful day that brought me here.

One day every year my powers “recharge” and make me vulnerable to the sentinels’ mutant sensors. For one day out of the 365 I can move my physical body through time and space. I can go back ten seconds, or a year, or a decade. The most I’d gone back before was seven days, to undo where my parents and I were stationed when they found us. After I came back and explained what would happened we moved to another spot, free of the psychotic robots, and any watching eyes. This had been going on for eight years when my powers made their first appearance in my previously normal life.

I’ve never had many friends, never attended a physical school, and haven’t really got a normal childhood. Everything going on now definitely doesn’t add any normality to my existence. After a while I accepted the life given to me and did my best to survive. The little perks were what I dwelled on the most, not all the atrocities surrounding my little safety bubble. My parents and friends were my life, their relationships helping me through the worst of times and making the best days even brighter. Accepting I was different and that it was ok made the emotional part of life easier.

It was a Thursday. 364 days after my last mutant episode. Mom was packing a suitcase in her bedroom, Dad was at work and would be home in forty-five minutes. I was in my bedroom, just down the hall from Mom, on my computer reading an article on cryptozoology. We’d all been nervous for about a week, waiting for the fateful day to arrive, praying  that everything would be ok. That night we would drive to a secluded cabin on Lake Michigan so when the powers hit we would be as far from the sentinels as physically possible without appearing suspicious.

“Rae?!” Mom called.

“Yeah?!”

“Are you all packed?” She appeared in my doorway, holding a folded shirt in her hands and looking at me with a furrowed brow. I nodded and closed the lid of my laptop.

“Yes, I got it done yesterday. Nerves I guess.” She smiled sadly and nodded.

“Good, one less thing to worry about. You have your charger and IPod right? I don’t want to listen to you complain for the entire trip that you’re bored,” Mom teased. She knew how hard it is for me to use my powers, even if it is just going back seventeen minutes to reset my body into a human state. Even thinking about it makes me panicky. She leaves again and I find myself just staring at the old carpeting. How long will we keep doing this? Forever? Guilt washes over me, a familiar friend, and I wipe tears from my eyes before Mom has a chance to see them. I don’t want her to walk in on me all emotional and try to convince me that this is what parents do, keep their messed up kids safe, because it’s not. They should not have to do this, spend so much time and energy and money that they don’t have on a little monster who is ruining their lives.

Why two law abiding humans had to have a mutant child I’ll never understand. It is cruel, simply cruel, that they have to put up with like this. Lying to their employers about why they need time off from work at the oddest times, looking frightened out of their minds when the humming of the sentinels pass by every evening. I lie down and pull the blankets over my head.

“Rae,” Mom says from across the hall. I get out of bed and stand in the doorway of my parent’s tidy bedroom.

“Yeah-“ I begin and stop when I see her face. She is white as a sheet and holding my mutant day calendar. We track the periods for inconsistencies, for daylight savings time and leap years, ever making sure not to miscalculate the arrival of the day.

“We were wrong,” her voice warbles. “Get in the car right now.” I have no clue what is happening but before my mind has a chance to catch up my feet are bringing me into my room to grab my backpack. I throw it over my shoulders and grab my diary off my desk and shove it into the front pocket, zipping it up as I stumble out of my bedroom. We’re tumbling over our own feet as we rush down the steps and fly outside towards the car.

“Mom?”

“The date, we counted wrong, I doubled checked just now and-“The loud hum of sentinels fills the air. We’re too late. I feel cold. They counted wrong. It’s not tomorrow. Mutant day is today. We’re in the middle of the city, surrounded by killer robots, with no way out. Everything outside is suddenly so glaringly bright. Too overwhelming, too much to handle.

“GET IN THE CAR!” She commands and throws open the driver’s door and jumps inside. I am quick to follow and dart into the passenger side, not thinking to buckle up as we roar out of the drive way and onto the empty street. This is not good. It is five o’clock on a weekday and there is no traffic in sight. Usually at this time tired men in suits are zooming past, women with perfect hair and makeup in need of refreshing are gabbing on their phones as they head to pick up their sticky fingered children from preschool. But there is nothing, no cars, no pedestrians. Not even the tweet of birds filling the air in the trees.

“They’re trying to box us in,” The reality of her words escape me. This can’t be happening. I begin to sob. She slams her foot on the gas and the speedometer races towards sixty. My body slams back against the seat as we accelerate and leave behind the house. It was a mistake to get in the car. If we had not been so shocked by the miscalculation I could have gone back twenty minutes inside of the safety of our house. If on the off chance a spike in mutant activity was detected there would be no traces of the gene within me when the sentinels reached our house anyway. But our knee jerk reaction was to follow procedure and to run as fast and far as possible.

We were not even two blocks away when the first one bounded into our line of sight. They are always so much bigger than I recall them to be and the very sight of them makes my stomach wretch. I throw my hand over my mouth and swallow hard to keep from throwing up on the leather seats. Mom slams on the breaks and twists the wheel as the monster lurches in front of us and the car is sent spinning off to the side. I go flying into the dash and smash my shoulder against the glove box. My head glances against what I think is the windshield and I crumple. Without my seat belt to keep me in place I am thrown against the car like a ragdoll. The pain doesn’t register. Only fear. Overwhelming, consuming, terror fills me and I don’t know what to do. Neither does Mom. Fight or flight overpowers rational thought.

The next thing I know we’re still, like sitting ducks, and the monster is running towards us. But it’s not alone, no; it’s joined by two companions. I feel dizzy and rest my pounding head against the leather seat, pressing my fingers deep into the padding.

“Rae, Rae do it now,” Mom gasps and tears at her seat buckle. She is registering what is going on faster and better than me. I’m crumpled on the floor of the car, my bashed up head throbbing and my cracked lip leaking blood into my mouth. For a moment I forget why I’m afraid. Then the loud, robotic whir of the sentinels reaches my ears and I remember all at once.

“M-mom,” I whisper as a sob wracks my body. I want them to go away but I can’t remember how to do it. All the pressure and the pain is frying my senses.

“Go back Rae go back! Please go back!” She’s sobbing, shaking my shoulders and staring into my eyes. Mom doesn’t look at the approaching behemoth. Mom will not take her eyes from me. She misses the sight of its arm transforming into a metallic club and soaring towards our windshield. I try not to look, to take my eyes from the oncoming sight. Every fiber of me wants to use my powers, but I can’t focus. It is entirely beyond me.

“Mom-“My voice is small and interrupted by the club bludgeoning our little car. It’s thrown through the air and lands upside down, the windshield covered in spider web cracks and our airbags suffocating. I push against the deflating material as my vision swims and is covered by a thousand little black dots. If I don’t fight passing out there will be no way to transport.

“Mommy?” I whisper and blink rapidly; the hum of the sentinels is getting louder again. They are approaching for the killing blow. I look to my left and she’s hanging there, held to her seat by the stressed belt, blood gushing from her head. There is so much of it. I’ve never seen so much blood at once, not even on TV. I’ve got it on me too, all over the front of my shirt and splattered on my face. Her hair is matted and wet with it. The liquid drips downwards like a soft rain.

I know I have to go back, but the impact of the dashboard against my head has confused me, close to the point of a concussion. I just stare at Mom, whispering “mommy” to myself for the brief seconds I have before the sentinels are on top of us. Just before they reach us I crawl a couple inches towards her, my hands gentle on her dangling head. There is a funny bulge at the base of her neck; I didn’t think that it should be looking like that.  But it was ok, it can be fixed. She is my Mom, she would always be with me, and she’d always be ok. I reach out for her hand that is hanging down, swaying slightly, and hold it in my own. It is warm, comforting even.

The heavy metal foot of the nearest sentinel draws my attention from her but I don’t let go. I look out from the upside down side window and see just how fast it is moving. It has only been a couple seconds but it feels like an eternity, sitting here watching the blood that should be keeping Mom alive spill out over the car.

I need to do something, right now, but it is like I can’t recall how to travel in time. It like like waking up in the morning and not knowing where you are, or what the date is. You are sure that if you wait a little while longer is will all come back to you, which it always does. I’m positive that if I have just another second I’ll know just what to do. Then everything will be back to normal, Mom won’t have blood dripping from her nose or her head, the funny bump on her neck will be gone, I’ll be back safe in my little prison of a house for another year.

The feet are right there and I’ll I can think is that Mom needs to run away. I hadn’t yet realized that I was holding the hand of my dead mother. Her neck had been broken in the crash, the funny bump wasn’t something that could be fixed. The creak of a machine echoes from above and I look up just as the bottom of the car which is now my ceiling begins to crumple in on itself. The world comes to a complete stop just as the first cracks of sunlight sprout from between the tearing metal. Flecks of dust stop floating midair, illuminated by the rays of sunshine that too have been paused.

“RU-“Everything goes black as I warn the corpse to run.

Heat. Cold. Fire. Ice. Wind blows against my skin and whips my hair against my neck. My flesh lifts from my bones, letting cold and warm air bite at the hidden marrow. The world fold in on me as the darkness enters my mind, making every sensor within my brain go haywire. Streams of light flash past in constant arrangements, like the universe is speaking in Morse code to me. Then all at once it stops.

When my vision begins to prick with color not darkness I’m lying on my back, still screaming. I stare up at a blue sky. There are a few sparse clouds, wispy like pulled wool.

“RUN MOM RUN!” Over and over. I sob. Her blood is warm on my face, on my hands, soaked into my shirt in abstract shapes.

“MOM,” I screech, too shocked, too scared to do anything but make useless noise. I watch the clouds pass by. Another voice joins my own, but it is shriller and less desperate instead more filled with fear. My warnings cease and are replaced with sobs.

I’m wailing, feeling a rush of pain from every part of my body accompanied by unyielding nausea. If I vomit the ache in my belly will go away. I turn on my side and prop myself up with one arm, throwing up on foreign grass. I close my eyes and sob, leaning over my mess. My tears mix with her blood and drain down the curve of my cheek bones, painting my face with grief. It dawns on me that she died. Wherever I am is far enough back to have avoided the incident. Bothering to look around and see where I ended up, get back home and hug my mother, doesn’t occur to my traumatized mind. I begin to wail. She died. I did this to her, I caused her to die. It is all my fault. What have I done?

“Peter, Peter!” A little voice, that of a child, shouts. The wind picks up and throws my hair into my face. The blonde strands stick to my cheeks and poke at my gory lips.

“Wha- OH MY GOD!” I turn onto my back and go back to staring at the sky through blurry vision. My tongue writhes from the stomach acid and the back of my throat feels shredded. How could I have let this happen? I should have gone back in the house, even if the sentinels were still on the way they would find no traces of the mutant gene. My word I’ve killed her. I’ve murdered my own mother.

“Are-are you ok?” I gasp for breath and someone enters my vision. I don’t have enough time to register their face before I’m being helped into a sitting position. Arms cradle my back and try to avoid the vomit on my shirt and the blood all over my body. I hold my arms loosely in front of my chest; they are stiff and cut up from glass that had been knocked loose during the crash.

“Lorna, go get Mom right now,” A male voice orders. I can barely move, my body goes limp with pain and shock. My breathing becomes more rapid and as I move towards hyperventilation the little black dots return.

“Mom, Mom, Mom…” Is all I repeat as my body starts to shake so hard it is near a convulsive state. She’s dead. No matter where I am right now I’ll always have the memory of her, hanging from the ceiling as blood runs in winding streams over her pale arms and onto the ground.

“Hey, hey its ok, calm down, hey it is ok.” Equally nervous and scared hands pat at my back and gingerly try to avoid the blood drying on my skin, dripping down my face and making me look like I’d just come from a horror movie. That wasn’t too far from the truth actually.

“Peter what is going on?!” My eyes finally come into focus as a woman approaches. Her hair is in pink curlers, one eye perfectly painted with makeup and the other barren of the dark colors. My mouth hangs open loosely and the mad ramblings turn to garbled nothings.

“Who are you? Honey, what happened?” The woman runs towards me and drops to the ground next to me, reaching for my hand and ignoring that it has been dipped in blood.

“M-mom.” My lips just barely form around the words, what I say sounds similar to how Frankenstein’s monster speaks, slow and stupid. I need to find her, that is what I must do, and hope that she forgives me for all I’ve done.

“That’s all she’s said, that and for her Mom to run,” The boy holding me up says and the woman nods furiously.

“Peter, bring her inside, put her in the kitchen so the blood doesn’t get on the furniture.” Suddenly I’m hoisted up into strong arms and sailing off and ground. I squawk and claw at the boy, seeing his face for the first time. He looks almost as scared as I am. He bends his head back as far as possible to escape my sharp nails and tries to talk me down into calmness. I’m brought in through a back door and I slowly calm, setting my head on the boy’s shoulder and holding my hands against my chest. The woman disappears down a hallway leading off from the kitchen and I’m set on the cold floor. The temperature shocks me and I gasp.

“What, what are you ok?” The boy asks at my strange sounds and puts a hand on the back of my neck, making me look at him. I open and shut my mouth, shaking my head and blinking nonstop. The woman returns and the boy takes his hand off of me, scooting away and sitting on the floor a few feet from me. She squats down and pulls a towel around my shoulders and holds a warm washcloth against my forehead, whispering soft words.

The shaking comes to a halt and I’m overtaken by stillness. The quiet does not mean relaxation or me calming down, but that the shock from the accident has paralyzed me. The woman gentle washes away the blood on my face, careful the scratches and my busted lip. When the washcloth fills with blood she goes to the kitchen sink and wrings it out, rinses it with more warm water and returns to the tedious task. There is a girl near the same age as the boy holding a little girl in her arms, she lingers in the entrance to the kitchen and watches me. I don’t look directly at her but can see her out of my peripheral; I stare only at the ground.

“Sweetheart, can you tell me what happened?” She takes my hand in her own and loosens dried blood from my fingers. I don’t reply for a good minute. Then slowly I turn my head and look deep into her brown eyes, I can see just how afraid she is. It does not make me feel better.

“T-they were everywhere,” I croak as my voice cuts into the sides of my throat. The image of the enclosing sentinels rips through my head like I’m reliving the moment over again. I cough hard and look away, new tears coming into my eyes.

“What, what was everywhere?”

“The monsters.”

The child in the doorway beings to scream and the older girl quickly leaves with her arms tight around the little one. I bring my arms slowly around my middle and press hard against my bruising ribs. The woman looks at her son, sad and scared.

“Who did this to you?” I’m asked. My eyes don’t meet hers this time.

“The monsters, the car, it was collapsing,”

“Peter call the ambulance, we need to get her to the hospital. She must have been in a car crash and walked her, shock or something.” The boy is gone. He doesn’t get up and walk away. He’s just gone. I tack the disappearance up to my addled brain.

“Where did this happen honey?”

“O-on the street, I have to go, she needs me.”

“No no no, you need to go to the hospital, your mom will be ok, I promise.” I turn at her, flinching away.

“I know that, she’s dead but it’ll be ok, I need to find her,” The woman’s mouth drops and she puts a hand on my shoulder.

“What have you seen?” Something tells me she doesn’t really want to know.


End file.
